One of the things I love best about Wodehouse's various works is his skillful use of the English language, and his ability to turn a phrase. Take, for example, Bertie's description of Jeeves' mood at the beginning of the novel: "He spoke with a certain what-is-it in his voice, and I could see that, if not actually disgruntled, he was far from being gruntled, so I tactfully changed the subject."
Equally delightful are Wooster's descriptions of various other characters, such as Roderick Spode: "It was as if Nature had intended to make a gorilla, and had changed its mind at the last moment." or of Madeline: "For Madeline Bassett was undeniably of attractive exterior- slim, svelte, if that's the word, and bountifully equipped with golden hair and all the fixings. But where the casual observer would have been making his bloomer was in overlooking that squashy soupiness of hers, that subtle air she had of being on the point of talking baby-talk. It was that that froze the blood. She was definitely the sort of girl who puts her hands over a husband's eyes, as he is crawling in to breakfast with a morning head, and says: 'Guess who!'"
And then there's the epithet used by an enraged Aunt Dahlia about Sir Watkyn, calling him a "hornswoggling high-binder". It is a source of sadness to me that I have never, in the course of my life, found opportunity to work "hornswoggling high-binder" naturally into any spoken or written sentence. What a phrase! I must admit that, though I've always loved the expression, I never really knew what it meant. I was aware, of course, that to hornswoggle someone is to cheat them, but had no clue about what a high-binder is, so I looked it up today. Turns out that it has two definitions, the first being: "a professional killer operating in the Chinese quarter of an American city", and the second being: "a corrupt politician". I'm going to assume that Dahlia meant the latter, as Sir Watkyn is a retired judge, and, though an unpleasant person, probably never made a habit of wandering the streets of America, intent on homicide.
Speaking of Spode, Bertie Wooster has some of his finest moments opposite the bulky dictator, once he is armed with the name "Eulalie", helpfully provided by Jeeves. For someone who is admittedly a little light in the brain department, and who is usually polite to the point of being walked over, his take down of Spode in defense of Gussie is positively masterful:
"'Since you ask, Spode, I want to know what the devil you mean by keeping coming into my private apartment, taking up space which I require for other purposes and interrupting me when I am chatting with my personal friends. Really one gets about as much privacy in this house as a strip-tease dancer. I assume that you have a room of your own. Get back to it, you fat slob, and stay there.'...
... He asked me if I had called him a slob, and I said I had.
'A fat slob?'
'A fat slob. It's about time,' I proceeded, 'that some public-spirited person came along and told you where you got off. The trouble with you, Spode, is that just because you have succeeded in inducing a handful of half-wits to disfigure the London scene by going about in black shorts, you think you're someone. You hear them shouting "Heil, Spode!" and you imagine it is the Voice of the People. That is where you make your bloomer. What the Voice of the People is saying is: "Look at that frightful ass Spode swanking about in footer bags! Did you ever in your puff see such a perfect perisher?'"
Bertie also performs very well in facing down Sir Watkyn Bassett with his Aunt Dahlia, nobly offering to take the rap for a crime he didn't commit in order to prevent the loss of Anatole. He's almost-well, sort of- an English Sydney Carton, bravely facing thirty days' incarceration for the pinched police
man's helmet. The farewell scene between the condemned man and his aged aunt is particularly touching:
"She wrung my hand.
'Good night, Bertie, and good-bye- or rather, au revoir. We shall meet again.'
'Absolutely. When the fields are white with daisies, if not sooner.'"
Of course, it would be a very careless valet who would allow his gentleman to be arrested and carted off to chokey, and Jeeves is not a careless man. Besides, if Bertie was in lock up, they would hardly be able to go on the world cruise which Jeeves has his heart set on. Suffice to say, neither angry policemen, retired judges, nor down market dictators stand a chance against Jeeves and his wiley brain.
I had a great time re-reading The Code of the Woosters. It's one of P.G. Wodehouse's finest works, and is just a whole lot of madcap fun. Both Jeeves and Wooster are at their best in this novel, with Jeeves his usual brilliant and imperturbable self, dispensing much needed advice and information along with fashion sense. And Bertie holds up his end, loyally- if occasionally reluctantly- doing his absolute best to aid Dahlia, Gussie, and Stiffy in their various pursuits, and staunchly living up to the Code of the Woosters: "Never let a pal down."